A/N:

Thank you for your kind comments and reviews for the first part of this story. It is a little angsty, and it continues to be a bit heartbreaking in this part as well.

Keep in mind that Part 2. in this story is about 19 year old William Wellington, who, I think, is different from 29 year old William, who has become a bit jaded, both as a man and as a detective inspector of Scotland Yard. It is the difference between the young man, although I think William might still see himself as a boy at this age, and the man. (In Episode 1, when Eliza calls him out for having "taken advantage" of her, he reminds her that she had been sobbing in his arms, and what was a boy to think?) I don't think we have really seen or heard how William felt after being slapped, and while this is just one possibility, I have always thought that the slap to his face and her rejection of him in that moment hurt him more than he is willing to let on to Eliza or anyone else.

And now…

Part 2. William

William walked quickly out of the back garden into the house. He was shattered, his heart broken into so many tiny pieces, and he couldn't catch his breath. In the kitchen, he saw Ivy standing near the sink, her eyes not lifting to meet his, as she continued to slowly peel potatoes.

Did she know? Had she seen or heard anything of what had happened between him and Eliza just now in the back garden? If she had, and he was almost certain that Ivy knew something had happened between them since she would not meet his gaze, would she tell Henry Scarlet about the kiss, the slap, the harsh words spoken - any of it? Had he ruined not only his relationship with Eliza, but his relationship with Henry as well because of his foolishness?

Trying desperately to pull himself together, he spoke in what he hoped was a voice that did not convey the depth of his anguish to her. "Ivy, would you please tell Mr. Scarlet that I did as he asked and told Eliza of Skip's demise? Would you also tell him that I'd like to postpone today's meeting? I am feeling unwell and would like to get back to the boarding house as soon as I can."

At last, Ivy raised her eyes to his, and in them, he thought he glimpsed a flicker of compassion, but for whom? For Eliza? Surely not for him? Just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by a coolness, as she replied, "I will be sure to let Mr. Scarlet know that you are feeling unwell today and would like to reschedule." She paused and then said in a soft voice, "I hope that whatever ails you, lad, will not stay with you long and bring you too low."

"Thank you, Ivy," he replied, and William had the distinct impression that Ivy was not talking about his being ill at all. "May I leave by the front door of the house?"

"Are you sure that you would not rather leave by the door through which you just came?" When he silently shook his head, he heard her sigh, then say, "If you must go upstairs and out the front door, then you are wecome to do so. Please make certain the door is pulled closed tightly when you leave."

William nodded his head as a thanks to her, feeling like his voice would betray him if he said another word to her. Once out of the kitchen, he picked up his pace, his stomach roiling from grief, his eyes growing moist. As he approached the front door, he stopped and bent over, his hands on his thighs, almost prostrated by the weight of his anguish. After a few minutes, he stood up and took a deep breath in. He slowly let it out and told himself, "Pull yourself together, man. Do not give in to it. You just need to get out of this house. You just need to get back to your room."

He was so intent on getting out of the Scarlets' house that he failed to see Eliza standing in the shadows, on the landing below the stairs that led up to the front hall. She had quietly come up the backstairs, not wanting to face William if he was still in the house. She watched as he bent forward in the front hall, then slowly straightened himself back up. Her hand covering her mouth to keep her silent, she watched as he opened the front door and stepped over the threshold, tears forming in her eyes. She knew that she had hurt him deeply. Would she ever be able to fix what she had done to William?

Once out of the house, William ran down the front steps, then sprinted down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. He needed to feel the air burning in his lungs to dull the searing pain in his heart and to silence the voice in his head that was telling him, "You should have known better, Will; you were never in her league, despite what you may have hoped, despite the fact that you..." No, he would not say it; he could not bring himself to say it. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping the voice would cease. He kept running and would not stop until he was in his room at the boarding house, where, if he fell over and curled himself into a tight ball, no one would be the wiser, except for him.

He reached the boarding house, flung open the door and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. On the second landing, he passed Sylvie, another boarder with whom he was friendly, who asked, "Wot's wrong wiv yer, Billy? Yer look awful. Don't tell me it 'as sumfink ter do wiv that detective's prissy wee daughter. Wot 'as she done now ter tie yer up in knots? Better ter stick wiv yor own..."

As he raced past Sylvie up the stairs to his room on the third floor, he shouted, "Enough! Enough!... You will not speak of her in that way! And if I wanted your bloody advice, I would have asked!"

"Yer need a reality check, Billy. I'm bloody well just 'avin' a look out for yer in the end, Luv," she shouted back at him, but her words were lost in the slamming of William's door.

It was a wonder the door had not fallen off its hinges, he had slammed it with such force. He leaned back against the door and slumped to the floor, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He rested his face on his knees for a moment, then pressed his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them, calling on every ounce of his strength not to cry. But even in that, he was defeated, as a single tear made its way down his cheek and fell onto his knee.

Why had he done it? Why had he kissed her? Why had he been such a bloody eejit? What had he been thinking?

The problem was that he had not been thinking, the voice in his head said matter-of-factly. If he had been thinking clearly, he would not have tried what he should not have, it told him unsympathetically. Didn't he know better than to ever believe that a girl of Eliza's stature could love a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, a pickpocketer, a street urchin? And now she hated him. She had slapped his face and shown him that she despised him and everything for which he stood. He knew that he would never be good enough for her. It had been sheer and utter stupidity on his part to ever imagine that she could love him, as he loved her. Because now he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he loved Eliza.

He had been falling in love with her for quite some time now. He couldn't even pinpoint the exact moment when his love for her had started. He had tried not to say it, not to himself or to anyone else. He had childishly thought that if he did not actually form the words in his mind, then surely it could not be true.

But the gentler voice in his head, not the one that had mocked him as he ran back to his room, was telling him that he had kissed Eliza because he had not been able to bear her sorrow that afternoon, as she cried over the loss of her beloved Skip. It was the same voice that was telling him he loved her and had only wanted to take away her pain, to hold her and comfort her. That voice reminded William what it had felt like to hold her in his arms, and for him, when he kissed Eliza, it had felt as if a puzzle piece missing from his life had been fit into place. He had felt complete with her.

Yet he had ruined everything with her. How could he have done it? He had tried to apologize, but had she even heard him? Did it make any difference to her that he had asked for her forgiveness? Would she ever speak to him again?

Surely, Eliza would come to realize that he had only meant to comfort her when he had taken her in his arms. Surely, she would not throw away two years of their friendship. And surely, they would be able to make amends once they both had recovered from their kiss and what followed, when their cooler heads could prevail.

Perhaps the best course of action was to wait a few days and see what happened. He let out a frustrated groan then, running his hands through his dark hair, when he realized that he did not know how best to make amends with Eliza, or even if he should try.

And so William sat on the floor of his room, his back pressed against the door, stuck between holding onto that one shred of hope that maybe Eliza would forgive him and they again could be what they once were to each other before he kissed her, and coming to the realization that she did not want him, and he would have to move on with his life without her. He could not squander the opportunity Henry Scarlet had given him to make something of himself. He would need to turn his focus to the endeavor of becoming a police officer- he owed that to Henry and to himself.

He thumped his head against the door, then stretched out his long legs and listened to the sounds of the other tenants in the boarding house and the noises of the street, as dusk fell outside his windows. Sitting in the half darkness of his room, he heard Sylvie calling to him, as she climbed the stairs from her room on the second floor. He could hear her standing outside his door, then knock and say, "Billy, I'm bloody well sorry for upsettin' yer earlier. I just don't like ter see yer turn yorself inside out over a silly wee girl 'oo doesn't appreciate wot a fine man yer right are. Will yer let me in? We could share some whisky if yer feel up ter it." She paused and waited. "Please open yor door, Billy, so I can properly apologize ter yer. I don't want yer ter be angry wiv me. Not tonight."

Perhaps Sylvie was right, perhaps some whisky would help ease the ache in his heart and quell the endless conversation in his head about what he should do to make things right with Eliza, or not and let her go. Sylvie had apologized and had sounded sincere. In a day filled with so many wrong turns, he just wanted the spinning to stop and to have someone comfort him instead.

He stood up and opened his door to see Sylvie leaning against the doorjamb, a full bottle of whisky and two glasses in her hands.

"I'm bloody well sorry, Billy, but yer still look awful, and sittin' there in the dark, mopin' is not the best use of yor time. Come, have some whisky wiv me. It will cheer yer up no end."

William lit a lamp in the room, while Sylvie made herself comfortable, kicking off her shoes and taking a seat on a chair near his desk. She poured whisky into both glasses, and handing one to William, she asked, "Do yer want ter talk about it?"

"Not really, no. Thanks for asking though and for the whisky," he replied. William realized that he had not eaten since breakfast that day, but he didn't care. He only wanted the agonizing pain that had taken hold of his heart to be dulled. He would drink it out of himself, if he had to, this evening. Then sleep would come, and he could forget about Eliza, if only for a few hours.

Sylvie plied him with whisky, and William, who knew exactly what she was trying to do to him, did not have the will to resist her. He drank like a man possessed who needed to forget and soon, Sylvie had moved from the desk chair next to him on his bed. She placed a hand on his chest, then lifted his chin, so that his eyes looked into hers.

"Yer know, Billy, yer shouldn't let 'er 'urt yer so. Yer're an 'andsome man 'oo deserves ter be luvd, right, and if she doesn't want yer, then I can tell yer, I do. I would never 'urt yer, Billy." She touched her lips to his and waited for William to respond.

What did it matter? he asked himself, in despair. Eliza was never going to love him, and with that thought haunting him, he kissed Sylvie back roughly, pulling her to him and laying her back on his bed next to him. He felt her hand slide down his chest to his abdomen and then down further still to his trousers. She started to undo his trousers, which sent a jolt through William. He reached down to grab hold of her wrist to stop her hand from going further than it already had, but her fingers still groped him. She stopped kissing him to look into his eyes before she let out a sly giggle.

"Goodness, Billy, don't be shy. The Lord were feelin' quite generous on the day yer were born. Yer 'ave absolutely nuffink ter be ashamed of. Please tell me yer 'aven't been savin' yorself for that wee prude of a girl. Yer know she wouldn't know the first fin' about 'ow ter satisfy yer, right, not like I do, not even when she's 50. I fink she is still gonna be a prude when she's that old, old and frigid and alone. But yer don't 'ave ter be, alone, that is. I can make yer forget about 'er."

"Sylvie, I've told you before not to talk about Eliza in that way. Please," he asked her, as he drew her lips back to his. Maybe if he kissed her, he wouldn't have to listen to her words, which were harsh and grating to him. He wasn't with Sylvie to discuss Eliza. "I don't want to talk about her. Leave her out of it. And not that it's any of your business, but I haven't saved myself for her alone. You know, Sylvie, that I've been a boy of the streets. I know my way around and that includes with women, but that doesn't mean I sleep around either. I just haven't been with a woman in a while."

"Billy, I don't care if yer do or yer don't, or yer 'ave or yer 'aven't. I just care that yer're wiv me tonight and that yer share yor luvly manhood wiv me," and she tapped her hand on his crotch, as if William didn't already know what she wanted from him.

He could feel her fingers start to move again over his trousers, trying to work their way inside, and while it was not unpleasant for him, her constant chatter was irritating him, pulling him back to sanity and the realization that the lips that were covering his right now were not the lips he wanted to be kissing. He had an unbidden image of Eliza, held close in his arms, appear in his mind from earlier that day. She was kissing him back, and he could remember the softness of her lips against his, as her kisses grew more insistent. Then she was tentatively exploring his mouth with her tongue, and... William came crashing back to the reality of what was about to happen in his room and knew that he could not continue with Sylvie.

He sat up and closed his trousers, then turned to a surprised Sylvie and said, "I'm sorry, Sylvie. I can't. I just can't. Not tonight. I think I just need to sleep off all the drink I've had and get a fresh start tomorrow morning. No hard feelings?" He pulled her to a sitting position on his bed.

Sylvie was obviously nonplussed by him ending their night together, but she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Suit yorself. Yer don't know wot yer're missin'. But if I ever spot that prissy wee fin' of a girl, I'll be sure ter give 'er a boxin' earful about 'urtin' yer." She rose from the bed, grabbed her shoes from the floor and walked to the door. She turned to William and said, "Keep the whisky, Billy. Yer're gonna need it more than me if yer continue ter pine oray for that frigid wee princess."

Seeing her to the door, he said, "Enough, Sylvie. Stop talking about Eliza." He kissed her on the cheek to placate her, then told her, "Maybe I will see you tomorrow. Thanks for the whisky, and you're right. I am going to need it to stop thinking about her. Good night, Sylvie." Then he closed his door on her.

After Sylvie was gone, he flopped down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Everything else could wait until morning. He just needed to shut down his mind and, if he could manage it, his heart too. Easier said than done. The next few days were going to be miserable for him, and he knew it. At least he had sidestepped Sylvie before he did something foolish with her that he might later regret. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain pinging off his windows. Miraculously, sleep was kind to William that night and descended upon him gently.